


All these words I just don't say

by howlsfaith



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, M/M, Slightly AU! Two Dimensions Situated During Season 7
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-05-29
Updated: 2013-03-20
Packaged: 2017-12-05 21:37:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/728175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/howlsfaith/pseuds/howlsfaith
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What happens when an anguished, guilt filled Dean cries out for Castiel and it's not Castiel who answers?<br/>What happens when Castiel almost loses his faith on himself?</p><p>Very emotional. Mainly focused on Dean and Castiel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Anguish

**Author's Note:**

> Well...this was an idea I had 1 year ago and finally decided to post - hoping to get some motivation to finish it, I'm guessing only 2 or 3 chapters to finish it.  
> Despite everything, I'm very fond of how it turned out. It's slightly AU!.  
> English is not my first language so reviews and constructive criticism are very very welcome.

A week has passed.

A week filled with Sammy asking him things he didn’t wanna think about, saying things he knew, deep down inside, were right yet he couldn’t bring himself to agree – because agreeing would mean oh so many other things; things he couldn’t bring himself to think, even less to accept.

They stop at a motel after five hours of driving. Sam was picking up newspapers and saying something about a case but Dean didn’t even hear him. He got himself a single room, without even looking at Sam, and left him alone at the reception of the motel, shutting and locking his own motel room door.

Once the door was shut, Dean let out a long sigh, dropping his things on a table nearby.

The past week was filled with unwanted emotions and angry thoughts. And most of them were about _Cas_. 

Merely thinking his name made his chest tighten and he immediately searched the room for a bottle of whiskey. And he drank, and drank, trying to drown everything, drown _himself._

Because _Cas was back_. 

He always thought he would be mad at the angel when he came back – because he _knew_ Cas would be back, when did any of the three of them stayed dead for too long? –, thought they would argue and fight because of all that Purgatory and Godstiel bullshit, but no. 

It felt…

It felt like…that time at the barn. 

Felt like seeing him for the first time, unsure of what was going on and of what, _who_ he is. 

It also felt like a stab to the heart with a twist and the courtesy of a whole bottle of emotions he wasn’t prepared to deal with. 

And his _wife_? _Emanuel_ and his _wife_? And that cutesy, simple house?

Dean groaned and kept drinking – one fourth of the bottle was gone already. 

He should’ve cursed at him and left, it’s what Dean would do anyway, right? 

It’s what he would do to anyone but Cas-freaking-tiel. 

_“There were demons at his house, after him”_ , he tells himself, trying to convince himself that what he did was for Cas own good and not something based on a extremely selfish emotion. When did Cas evoke so many fucking emotions inside him? _Goddamnit Cas!_

Everything happened so fast then. 

Cas remembering who he was…Dean giving him the trench coat. _Oh God, the trench coat._ He kept it because…because he was holding it for Cas, yeah, that. It had nothing to do with all those emotions and fucking _feelings_ , yeah, most definitely not.

_“I’m gonna need another bottle.”_

_“Actually, make that TWO bottles.”_

And then Cas fixed Sam. _“Of course he did, he’s CASTIEL, he always fixes things, he always helps us, and he always saves **me**.”_

Dean shook his head and groaned at seeing that his bottle was half empty already. Sighing, he checked the room, grinning when he found two more bottles of whiskey and one of vodka. He would need the damn booze to “endure” through all those annoying _feelings._

Because Cas – Cas-goddamn-you-tiel was back – paid a high price to fix Sam. And while Dean was happy that his little brother was sleeping – no nightmares and no crap – after everything he went through…Cas was on his shoes now. 

_“And what did you fucking do, you sorry excuse of a Winchester? Oh yeah, that’s right, you fucking LEFT him there. Kudos to you; you’re a fucking genius.”_

_“As if I had another option”_ , he tells himself but deep, deep down, he knows something. Knows he’s Dean Winchester and if there isn’t another option, then, _fuck everything, he would **make** one. _ Because he’s Dean Winchester and that’s how he freaking rolls. 

But that’s not what he did. 

He abandoned Cas. 

And no amount of booze would make him forget that. There isn’t enough whiskey in the whole world to drown the guilt and those _goddamned feelings_ he shouldn’t have. 

Because Cas is so much more than just family and he knows it, yet only now he accepts it. Only now he allows himself to feel and understand a little of the turmoil going on inside his chest. 

But then he remembers Godstiel…remembers all those months without him, even before his supposed death… _remembers the trench coat._

He feels divided. The part of him that would do anything for Cas – and he shivers and drinks more at realizing just how he would do _anything_ – and the part of him that is mad and lost and irrational and…

Dean’s sitting on the floor now with the lights still off, his second bottle in one hand while his other hand runs through his hair. The world seems fuzzy and he barely notices that it’s not because of the alcohol, but the _tears_ that run down his face. 

Because Dean loves Cas, loves Castiel. And it’s a kind of love so pure and so _new_ to him that he doesn’t know what to do. And the moment he thinks that, it’s like a dam vanished. A tsunami of feelings and thoughts threatening to consume him. The guilt, the love, the anger. 

He wasn’t divided as he thought he was, no. If anything, he was more _uno_ than ever, as if his feelings for Castiel had filled all the gaps inside him, a warm light that somehow made Dean whole.

And he drank more; he drank because he was _scared_. Cas wasn’t there with him nor would he appear in a flutter of wings, telling him everything would be okay and just being there with him. He felt alone _“…and I should, after all, I abandoned him there”_

A headache appeared as his mind tried to process what he was feeling, thankfully the third bottle was enough to make his mind stop trying at all. And at this point, Dean was just a wreck of tears and emotions. 

He smiled thinking of the curious blue eyes; he grasped the air in front of him desperately, barely remembering of Castiel finding him in Hell; he threw the bottle against the wall, hearing it shattering in hundreds of pieces, thinking of how he left Cas in that hospital and didn’t even look back; and he cried, he cried thinking of all the angel has done for him in the past.

He was wasted and tired, so much that he let himself fall, laying on the floor, not finding strength enough to get up and lie on the bed. In the end, he was so gone, his mind lost somewhere between his memories and reality, that he doesn’t even remember clasping his hands together and praying, for whoever would hear him, for help. Nor remember a very familiar voice echoing through the room.

_Dean…_


	2. Wings

He woke up with the worst headache of his blasted existence – and sleeping on the floor definitely didn’t help that.

_“Bathroom, shower, clothes, pie. In that order.”_

Smiling to himself, Dean got up slowly, the world swirling around him. A quick glance to the clock told him he slept too much, it was almost five in the afternoon and he knew Sam would bitch at him, saying "of course you’re not fine, Dean, c’mon, you slept for almost twenty hours" and that brought a bitter smile to his face. He could always count on Sammy to bitch at him, end of the world, Leviathan world domination or not. 

He had just finished dressing up when he checked his cell phone. No calls whatsoever. Not even from Sam. Dean frowned, his gut clenching in a bad way, and called him. Three times and Sam didn’t pick up any of them. 

_“The case…oh fuck my life.”_

He busted into Sam’s room, eyes wildly scanning the room for any clues, his horrible headache ignored for now. Luckily, Sam had wrote down an address and left it on the table with the rest of his research. From what it looked like, seemed like a witch was wrecking havoc with mysterious and violent deaths. He was almost leaving when something picked up his attention. At the corner of a photo, there was the drawing of a circle, apparently in blood, and Dean growled under his breath, cursing Sam and the world, before running to his car. 

He gripped the steering wheel tightly, cursing repeatedly because a) his pie would have to wait, b) his headache was threatening to blow up his head and c) Sammy thought he was going after a witch, and that he would be to able to take care of it on his own. But the truth was that it wasn’t a witch.

It was a fucking group of demons.

\---

The place was an old warehouse – it was _always_ fucking old warehouses, _“Old warehouses should be fucking illegal”_ Dean grumbled to himself – and he opened the door carefully, trying to be as quiet as possible. 

There were a lot of crates and boxes piled up, which gave him a good cover at least, and right in the middle of it there was a huge demonic circle and Sam, strapped to a chair, unconscious. Near him, there were five demons – and Dean made a mental note to search for the sixth –, all around a thick book, of course. 

_“Bastards must’ve staged the deaths, make it look like it was witch related.”_ Dean bit his lip, refraining from cursing out loud. The circle he saw on the photo before was the symbol of a group of demons. A group of demons he and Sam hunted a few years ago, but there were too many for them to handle alone, in the end, Cas appeared and he assumed Cas killed them all therefore calling the case closed. Apparently he was wrong and a few of them managed to escape before Cas smote their sorry asses. 

Dean had to bit down another curse. Sam was out and Cas wouldn’t come. 

The smell of blood was thick in the air and it didn’t take long for Dean to know that was Sam’s blood and the demons would use it for who-knows-what, possibly a ritual. 

Which also meant he didn’t have a lot of time. 

The door behind him opened and Dean quickly hid behind one of the crates, seeing the sixth demon carrying a knife and what seemed like a bronze basin. The other demons seemed engrossed in a discussion regarding the book and Dean took this opportunity – shrugging and grinning and telling himself _"Oh well, it’s now or never."_ – to stab the sixth demon in the back with Ruby’s knife.

The five demons turned his way, black eyes and snarling, as the basin and the knife that the sixth brought hit the floor with a loud metallic sound. Fortunately, Dean had hid behind the boxes before they could see him. Three of the demons came after him while the other two stayed with the book. 

_“Bring it on, bitches. Let’s see who’s a good dancer here.”_

Dean kept using the boxes and crates to hide himself while the demons searched for him. One of them passed too close and Dean stabbed him in the heart, twisting the blade and releasing him, letting the body hit the floor with a thud while he moved to hide elsewhere. 

_“One down, two to go._ ” He grinned to himself, holding Ruby’s knife tightly in his hand. 

When the third passed near him, he charged, but the demon had been expecting and twisted his arm, making him drop the knife. Dean kicked him in the gut and wrangled out of his grasp, diving for the knife when the fourth demon appeared and kicked the knife out of his way. Without Ruby’s knife and outnumbered, it was merely a matter of time before they had a bloodied Dean Winchester kneeled in front of the huge demonic circle, his arms twisted to his back. 

Dean snarled – even though his broken nose hurt like hell – and spat at the demons, blood coming with it, squirming against the demons holding him down. 

At first, they thought they would kill him, that they would let him bleed to death, using his blood for some profane ritual. But the sadistic laughs and grins made him think twice, frowning and then growling once he realized they would make him watch Sam die first. They bound him with chains and leather straps in a chair facing Sam; let him watch Sam bleed and die while he couldn’t do a thing to stop it.

And he struggled against the bindings, blood running freely down his arms as he managed only to hurt himself more. The demons laughed and laughed, enjoying it so much that Dean promised himself to dig up all those _skills_ Alastair taught him just to make them scream in profound agony until he was satisfied enough to let them die. 

But as time passed, his anger was fading, exhaustion taking over him. He now struggled to stay awake, to breathe against the tight bindings. And the anger he felt towards the demons was now being directed at him because _he_ once again felt _guilt_. Guilt at having Cas fix Sam just to watch him die like this, guilt at pushing Sam away – he was convinced that if he hadn’t done that, Sam would’ve never gone after this case alone –, guilt that he wasn’t strong enough to protect the ones he loves… _again._

Dean closed his eyes, furrowing his brow, wishing so bad that the old times were back; wishing that at anytime from now, Cas would show up and save them, save _him_ , once again; wishing to go back in time and say so many things he didn’t before, to apologize for being so blind, for taking so much for granted. His consciousness was slowly slipping, either from the blood loss or exhaustion, and he lifted his head, opening his hazel eyes to see the glass ceiling of the warehouse – it was dark outside already and Dean frowned, not knowing how long he has been there. His throat was dry and it hurt to speak, but he spoke anyway, a single word, a name, as if a silent prayer. 

“Castiel…” 

The demons laughed harder. Circling him to mock him, telling him that poor Cas would be next in that hospital, that maybe they would even let him live long enough to watch them kill him. 

Dean closed his eyes for a moment, trying to ignore their voices, trying to fuel his own fighting fire with anger and rage, not ready to give up yet, determined to fight until he couldn’t anymore.

But then he heard the soft, distant, flutter of wings.

Dean opened his eyes, his brow furrowed, while he kept looking at the glass ceiling, his breath catching in his throat as time seemed to slow down. He blinked once, twice, not quite believing what his eyes were seeing. 

_Wings._

A huge set of raven black wings clashed against the glass ceiling, shattering it, making the demons look up, expressions of terror and shock frozen on their faces. 

It was an _angel._

The angel touched the forehead of two of them and said something in its real voice, a grave, deep command that shattered all the glasses in the warehouse, killing both demons instantly. The two remaining demons charged against the angel and Dean gaped as the raven black feathers acquired a sharp edge, slicing the demons and making them hiss in pain. The angel turned – and Dean still couldn’t see its face although deep down, he somehow knew it was Castiel – and pressed its hands against their foreheads, frying them too. 

The angel then proceeded to healing Sam and releasing him from the bindings. Dean frowned at the awed expression on Sam’s face, wondering what _soo_ surprising about Cas’s face, but then the angel turned, walking at him to heal him too and Dean suddenly understood as he stared at a very feminine face with bluer-than-the-sky eyes and messy long black hair. 

He opened his mouth to say something possibly unintelligible, but the angel healed him and put him to sleep before he could say anything.


	3. Nostalgia

He woke up at the sound of Sam anxiously pacing around the room.

“Dean! You’re awake, finally!” 

He winced at how loud Sam was talking, his head still hurt, and he gestured for Sam to keep it down. Dean rubbed his eyes, groaning, checking his surroundings and sighing, relaxed, at recognizing the place, his motel room. A cold shiver ran up his spine as he remembered the empty bottles of whiskey and the one he threw against the wall. 

“What happened?” Dean groaned, sitting up, glancing at Sam. 

“I was hoping you would know.” Sam frowned, standing still for the first time in god knows how long, that nerdy, analyzing look on his face.

“Uh.” He sighed softly as he saw that the bottles were gone, even the pieces of shattered glass. “You went after a _witch_ on your own, that’s what happened.” Dean glared at Sam, that ‘You should know better than that’ glare. 

Sam opened his mouth – and Dean knew he would go on his ‘I can take care of myself’ rant – but Dean spoke first. “Except it _wasn’t_ a witch. It was a fucking group of demons you went after on your own.” 

Dean glared harder and Sam sighed, letting his arms drop by his sides, half puppy eyes face on. 

Silence filled the room and Dean instantly regretted stopping at a motel that had no TV’s. 

“Right before I woke up, before that _angel_ appeared, I heard you say something, Dean.” Sam spoke in that tone meant for soothing scared animals and Dean snorted in response, shaking his head.

“I was passing out, Sammy, probably was complaining about how I missed out _pie_ to come rescue you.” He barked back, ignoring the annoyed sigh coming from Sam.

“It had nothing to do with pie or the demons, Dean.” Sam stared at him, completely serious and a little annoyed. Dean arched one eyebrow at him, staring back. “You called out for Cas.” Sam finished in a soft voice, seeming a little sad. 

Dean froze – he was hoping Sam hadn’t heard that. 

“And, not long after, that _angel_ came out of nowhere.” Sam kept staring a Dean, even though the other was avoiding his eyes and was licking his lips, trying to hide his nervousness. “I tried calling Cas, but he doesn’t answer and…” Sam sighed exasperatedly.

“You tried calling _Cas_?” Dean’s voice came out a little harsher than he wanted and he swallowed down the uneasy feeling stuck in his throat.

“Maybe you should try calling him. He always answers when you call.” Sam said as if that was no big deal at all. And Dean had to hold himself to not bark back something he would probably regret later.

“Sammy, Cas…he won’t come, doesn’t matter what I do.” He shook his head, sighing. 

“Then maybe we should go back, if we tell him what happened I’m sure he’ll…”

“He’ll what, Sammy?” Dean snapped, glaring at him. “Cas…it’s past now.” And Dean clenches his hands into fists so hard that he feels the nails breaking the skin. _“This trio of ours is past now”_ is what he wants to say, but he can barely admit that to himself, and simply can’t admit it out loud. 

He’s desperate for a drink, but he knows Sam would stop him, would want to make him talk about all those things he doesn’t even wanna think about. And he can’t stay in this room any longer so he leaves, Sam going after him, shutting the door.   
It’s night and a fine rain is falling, they’re out in the parking lot and Dean refuses to turn and face Sam. He refuses because he can feel the tears gathering and digs his nails harder on his skin, letting the pain distract him. 

Sam frowns, possibly understanding this situation better than Dean would ever believe, staying a few feet away from him, letting him have his personal space. 

“It wouldn’t hurt to try, Dean…just call him.” Sam says in such a low voice that Dean barely registers it. 

And before he can think properly about it, he’s facing the sky, letting the rain drops mix with his tears – because he _hurts_ , he hurts so bad he doesn’t even know why or where or _how_ – and he lets the name rolls out of his lips in a whisper, a silent question, a silent prayer.

“Cas…Castiel.” 

And he doesn’t need to say anything else because it’s _there_ , it’s in the way he says it. 

The answer comes in a soft flutter of wings coming from his side, a little too close, invading his personal space as if it’s the most natural thing in the world – and deep inside Dean wonders if indeed it’s not.

“Hello, Dean.” 

There’s a light, soft sound to it – the voice of a woman – but still with deep and rich tone he knows belongs to Castiel. And he closes his eyes, turning slowly with tears and pain and guilt written all over his face.

He’s met with a pair of huge pure blue eyes, messy, long, wavy black hair. She looks about his age and wears a fancy tan coat with a hazel-green scarf around her neck and knee high black boots. She has her hands on the pockets of the coat, a serene expression on her face. 

He doesn’t know why or how, but he knows she’s Castiel. 

Sam keeps his distance, gaping, surprised at the woman that appeared – _“The same that saved us in that warehouse”’_ –, a small smile curving his lips as he sees Dean hugging her desperately and tightly. He sighs, relaxing, as if a weight had been taken off from his shoulders and turns around, going back to the motel room and giving them the privacy he knows Dean needs.

Dean hugs her without even thinking twice. A small laugh finding its way out when he realizes that she remains still, as if not knowing how to react. He holds her arms and wraps them around him, turning to look at her and finding her face in a expression of confusion, head tilting slightly to the side in an oh so Castiel-like way. 

He smiles and hugs her tighter, feeling her hugging him back awkwardly. 

Somewhere during the hug, Dean was assaulted by this strange feeling. A _déjà vu_ , yet different. As if the Castiel hugging him wasn’t exactly Castiel, even though it was. And that made no sense.

When the hug ended, Dean stared at those blue eyes, and was puzzled to find curiosity, as if she didn’t know him – but Castiel knew him, knew him better than anyone else on the freaking universe. 

And then she smiled. A cute, shy smile and Dean knew she had been reading his thoughts. He opened his mouth to ask something, _anything_ , but she was quicker, standing on the tip of her toes and kissing the tip of his nose before vanishing with a flutter of wings, taking with her his headache and all his wounds, his pain. 

\---

Gradually, Dean started to feel better – and he knew that for sure when he caught Sam looking at him when he thought Dean wasn’t watching, a small smile on his face followed by a sigh of relief. 

Suddenly it was like old times. 

He and Sam would get into a bigger trouble then they could handle and all Dean had to do was call for Castiel and she would be there in a flutter of wings, smiting foes and healing friends. It brought an ache to Dean’s chest, a longing for a less bitter time – for there wasn’t really any _better_ times – when at least some of their friends were still alive.

More than once he caught himself thinking with a smile of how Bobby would react when he told him they had Angel Mojo in their A Team once again – and that thought always ended up with a bottle of whiskey cause he would then remember that Bobby was dead, and he would never hear him call them ‘idjits’ again. 

Castiel 2.0 – cause Cas 1.0 and Cas 2.0 was easier than “he Cas” and “she Cas”, without mentioning, _less weird_ – was very similar to Cas 1.0; their personalities, logic and mannerisms. So much that Dean didn’t ever question if maybe Cas 2.0 was someone else entirely, like a pagan god messing with their heads, for example. Funny enough, not even nerdy Sam seemed to question Cas 2.0; it’s like they both knew, deep inside, that Cas 2.0 was Cas indeed. Yet, Cas 2.0 wasn’t Cas 1.0, even though they were both Castiel. 

Dean groaned, feeling like banging his head against the wall. 

All this… _thinking_ would kill him, he was sure of it. 

While the similarities were amusing and relaxing, the differences were often surprising and shocking – without counting the whole ‘she’ and not ‘he’ thing-y. 

One of them was the _wings._

Whenever they got themselves into some big, messy, problem, she would come, raven black wings spread out, intimidating, as if she was the Judgment of God Himself. They would watch, amazed, as the wings shifted in and out of existence with a mere thought, avoiding whatever harm could go their way. With other mere thought, they would shift, the edge of each feather becoming as sharp as a knife and soon you would have a pissed off angel with two gigantic fan of knives on either side – this one time he even saw her slice a car with her wings as easy as hot knife on butter. 

He remembers that Cas always told him he was a soldier, a fighter, but he had never seen Cas fight like that before – heck, he never even glimpsed at Cas ‘true’ wings. Dean frowns at that thought. Maybe Cas never showed him ‘cause _he_ never _asked_. 

It’s been almost a month since they left that hospital and Dean can’t help but wonder how’s Cas doing – and his jaw tightens when he thinks of the whole lot of _nothing_ he has been doing to help Cas out, even, it not especially, since Cas 2.0 was helping them. Guilt hit him in his gut like a truck. 

He promised himself they would find a way to help Cas, even if he had to die in the process.


	4. Gracefully Bound

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More explanations about Cas 2.0 on the next chapter.   
> It'll all make sense, I hope.

After all the _quietness_ regarding the Leviathans, they were not prepared to get ambushed by three of them. In a freaking half destroyed _barn_ of all places. 

In between hunts, they did everything they could to find more info about them, summoned demons, gods and a whole myriad of other supernatural creatures in hopes of finding a way how to kill the Leviathans. It all turned out to be unsuccessful in the end. They were blind and now not even Crowley was helping them. 

Dean made a mental note of buying Borax and making sure they never ever ran out of it. 

That is, if they made out of this alive. 

He managed to cry out a “Castiel!” while the Leviathan threw him again and again against the wall. And for a moment nothing happened, he was getting ready to scream out its name again, in a much more pissed off manner, when he heard the faint flutter of wings and the sound of sharp knives-like feathers decapitating one of them. 

The Leviathans immediately turned to the angel, ignoring the two bloodied Winchesters on the floor. 

“Holy shit.” He heard Sammy say breathlessly, wincing from the pain of a few broken ribs. 

Dean followed his brother’s gaze and quickly decided that ‘Holy shit’ was the biggest understatement of the _fucking universe._

Castiel was fending off both Leviathans, raven wings spread out, wearing the most badass silver armor he has ever seen and, to top it off, holding a silver, _glowing_ , longsword. 

Suddenly, he knew everything would be alright. It would be alright because there was an _Angel Of The Lord_ fighting on their side, a winged Holy Warrior full of Divine Retribution to deliver. And there was no _way_ she would lose. At that moment, Dean believed so much, had so much _faith_ , he would lift his hands and pray if he wasn’t speechless.

Castiel dodged each attack with grace, as if someone executing a long rehearsed dance. Then, at one moment, the sword glowed brighter and Castiel, in a swift movement, thrust the sword deep into the Leviathan’s chest, piercing his heart. Suddenly, the Leviathan screamed in agony, light seeming to spread from the sword and burning him up from the inside. In mere seconds, the body was now nothing but a pile of ash. 

The second Leviathan stared at the pile of ashes with a shocked expression that slowly turned into profound terror. But Castiel was merciless and, taking advantage of the enemies paralyzing fear, repeated the same movement with both the second and the third Leviathan, leaving nothing but two piles of ashes were they once stood.

With a mere look, Castiel fully healed Sam and Dean in seconds. Dean couldn’t help but notice that Cas was never able to do that, he would need to touch them to heal them. In a second thought he then looked at the piles of ashes, feeling relief at seeing that Castiel could kill them. _“Well…Cas couldn’t do that either so…”_

The angel swayed, using the sword to steady herself. Gradually, her wings disappeared, shifting out of this existence together with her armor, leaving her in the fancy tan coat and hazel-green scarf he saw her wearing before. The glow of the longsword dimmed, making visible the intricate designs and sigils carved into the metal and handle of the sword, together with the pair of silver wings that adorned the handle. 

He was beside her before he could even notice.

“Are you alright, Cas?” It came out so naturally that Dean almost froze.

She nodded, panting a little, leaning on the sword for support. 

“Just had to use a little more power than I thought.” She answer in that informative tone that is so… _Castiel._

Dean arches one eyebrow, Sam inspecting the piles of ashes with an apprehensive look.

“A _little_? Damn, Cas, you just _fried_ them.” His tone was skeptical as he kept his hazel green eyes on the angel. 

He was kinda relieved when Cas didn’t laugh – as most people would in that situation, but hey, Cas was _Cas_. All in all, he was pretty surprised when the angel didn’t vanish after the battle. 

“I…might need to stay here for a while. My vessel needs rest.” And then he knew she could indeed hear his thoughts. “I wasn’t expecting to use more power than I usually do.” Then she looked away, almost as if ashamed for not being fully ready to fight three Leviathans – and Dean was pretty speechless when he thought about that. They couldn’t kill not even _one_ and Castiel here killed _three_ as if they were just overpowered demons instead of ancient beasts so powerful they had to be locked inside Purgatory – who were now piles of ashes that Sam was carefully putting in three different jars, probably for some nerdy research/experiment later.

Dean snorted. 

“Cas, you can stay as long as you want. We wouldn’t even be alive right now if it weren’t for ya.” The angel seems stunned and Dean arches his eyebrow at her before realizing he never _actually_ told her she could stay, and then he merely cursed at himself and put on his best comforting smile. 

“Thank you, Dean.” She stared at him with those blue eyes, her expression and voice so sincere that Dean had to remember himself how to breathe. Once again he noticed how that woman, that _angel_ , in front of him was, somehow, indeed Castiel.

“Er, I don’t wanna ruin the moment, but the Leviathans destroyed our car, remember?” Sam winced at the end of the phrase, and Dean straight out glared at him, mumbling something about how he didn’t have ‘moments’ and that was something for pussies and chicks, not him, not for Dean Winchester. 

“Yes, I knew that. There’s another car outside.” Castiel, not looking so exhausted now, turned to face him; the longsword disappearing as soon as her hand left the handle. 

The brothers exchanged a few looks before gathering their things – which were sort of scattered all over the barn – and head outside. Dean laughed loudly and grinned at seeing his beloved Impala waiting for them. He didn’t even glance back as he ran to the car, giving it a whole body awkward hug and kissing the windshield, talking to it was if it was a long lost friend – and in a way, it sort of was.

Sam turned to Castiel, who was a little behind him, her blue eyes rose to met his and he smiled at her, mouthing a ‘thank you’ and he knew he didn’t had to say more because she was Cas, and Cas always knew things, she knew he meant more than simply ‘thank you for getting a car for us’ and so, she smiled back, a small, awkward smile. 

Having his Baby back was something Dean wasn’t expecting for a long time, yet, there she was. He hurried Sam and Cas inside before starting the engine, laughing and humming happily at hearing the oh so familiar roar. 

Cas sat on the backseat, a warm, small smile on her face as she watched Dean’s heart sing and his soul shine even brighter. He was truly happy as he drove down that highway with his beloved Impala, his brother and her. A little glimpse into his thoughts confirmed her suspicions: he was remembering old times, less bitter times, where he, Sam and Castiel sat together in that car, silently enjoying the ride. And so, she was content in doing exactly that, silently enjoying the ride.

\---

She watched them sleep – after all, angels didn’t need sleep – still slightly surprised at how _easy_ they had accepted her, as if she was this old dear friend they haven’t seen in a while – and how strangely _comfortable_ she felt around them, as if she was meant to be there with them all along. In a way, she supposed it was true, they indeed knew Castiel – even though that was another Castiel altogether – but they didn’t know _her_ specifically. A mere glimpse into their thoughts revealed that they didn’t care about it, because, for them, she was Cas and that’s it, there wasn’t anything to dwell upon. 

Sam sleeps soundly on the farther bed, as if trying to catch on all the sleep he’s been missing. His sleep is peaceful and dreamless, and Castiel turns her attention to Dean. He was sleeping on the bed beside her – actually _she_ was sitting on a chair beside his bed – and she watched his brow furrow and his face turn into a frown, eyes moving behind closed eyelids. He was dreaming; and, only after minutes of him restlessly shifting on the bed, she touched his forehead softly, glimpsing at his dream. 

It was on Dean’s dream that she first saw the Castiel they knew – and not mere glimpses of him. 

The vessel looked remarkably as a male version of the current vessel she was in – she vaguely remembered that in her original plane, Jimmy Novak turned out to be _Jeannine Novak_ , sometimes called ‘Jamie’ in the memory of her grandmother – and such resemblance was expected as the planes rarely vary too much from one to another.

She expected the being _behind_ Jimmy Novak – the Castiel they knew – to look like herself, but, as she watched Dean’s dreams and memories…

They seemed very different from each other in such fundamental, essential points, that she could barely believe they were meant to be the same being. 

In her plane, Castiel was a very powerful angel, one of the _malakhim_ , part of Gabriel’s garrison and the sole wielder of one of the Holy Swords of Heaven, Ala Alba. 

Yet, it seemed like in this plane, Cas was a fallen angel, losing his Grace slowly, painfully, a loner without a garrison, without Heaven and even without Ala Alba. 

Murmuring a few words in Enochian, she calmed Dean’s dream, let him sleep peacefully, before closing her eyes and executing, in her mind’s eye, the Calling only she could do, which would bring Ala Alba to her. 

Except there was no answer.

She opened her eyes, frowning. She could feel the Ala Alba of her plane with her, somewhat merged with her Grace. _“So Ala Alba has been lost in this plane…maybe that’s the difference.”_ Being the sole wielder of such a powerful sword like Ala Alba had been one of the reasons why Gabriel insisted so much for her to join his garrison, without it, she was sure she would have died back in her original plane.

 _“Maybe that’s why he chose to Fall…”_ But that didn’t make enough sense for her. Castiel, from this plane or the other, wouldn’t resort to Falling simply to ‘avoid’ death. 

She sighed deeply. 

No matter how much she thought, she just couldn’t understand her ‘counterpart’ actions – and not just regarding the Fall; she had seen a lot in Dean’s memories and failed to comprehend most of them. 

Suddenly, Dean groaned in pain, squirming in the bed, still sleeping. 

Castiel’s brow furrowed, confused; then her eyes widened as she saw a red handprint on his shoulder. The mark seemed to be burning, making Dean feverish. Worried, she didn’t even think twice as she touched the mark, ready to heal it before something worse happened. 

As soon as she touched it, a flood of images and emotions hit her, enough to make her gasp and gape – she would’ve removed the hand, but she _couldn’t_. Castiel was overwhelmed by memories and feelings of intensity she never experienced before, they all hit so close to home that, at some point, she lost herself. 

The mark reacted to her because she was Castiel – even if not the literal owner of the handprint – and, soon enough, she wasn’t sure which Castiel she was anymore. 

She watched, she _felt_ Dean’s soul close to her as she gripped him tight and raised him from Perdition – and knowing, rationally, that _she_ wasn’t the actor of such act, did nothing to change neither the feeling of holding Dean’s soul close nor the myriad of deep, core shattering emotions that wrecked through her. 

And she forced herself through all of it, the memories, and the feelings. She wanted to see where, _when_ they would end and it felt like an eternity before she found out something so beautifully heartbreaking that stunned her to the core. In the middle of that tornado that threatened to consume her, she finally began to understand.

Because there, right _there_ , in the middle…was a piece of Cas’s Grace. A piece so intrinsically like her own – and in a way, it _was_ her own – shining and spreading itself like a giant spider web, filling each and every gap in Dean – his soul, heart, mind, body –, holding him together and healing him slowly. In all her existence, she had never seen anything even remotely close to that. The scene silently spoke of so much love, devotion and loyalty that she was sure her vessel was crying as a response to all she had experienced in those few minutes. 

Still feeling dangerously overwhelmed, Castiel forced herself to back off, and coming back to ‘reality’ with a long gasp for air, sobbing with tears running down her face. She felt dizzy as her mind swayed with emotions she didn’t understand, things she never felt before. It all robbed her from any words, any thoughts. Castiel looked at Dean and it felt _different_ , she could now feel a very deep bond between them. _“My Grace must’ve recognized the piece inside Dean as my own, that would explain the bond.”_

She took a deep shaking breath, closing her eyes in an attempt to calm down…

…and then she felt a familiar tug in her mind.

It meant they were catching up with her. Castiel knew she had to leave, but now she felt apprehensive, the bond insisting her for her to stay. Yet, staying would only bring them more problems. She growled deep in her throat, pacing around the room like a caged tiger. She had no choice, there was still much she wanted to accomplish and if they caught up to her it’d be over.

Dean stirred and she froze. He would wake up any second from now. She had to leave before that, it’d be harder to leave with those hazel-green eyes begging her to stay. Castiel closed her eyes tightly, not understanding from where such a thought came from. 

And there was only one person, one _angel_ , which could help her understanding what was going on with her. She had to find this plane’s Castiel.

Dean heard Cas’s voice – the feminine, yet deep and rich one – mumbling an apology before vanishing in a loud, hurried, flutter of wings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More explanations about Cas 2.0 on the next chapter.  
> It'll all make sense, I hope.


	5. Contrast

Once he realized what was going on, he quickly sat up, but it was too late. And he was left feeling cold and sweaty, heart throbbing, vaguely noticing that the mark on his shoulder was tingling, a pleasant warm sensation coursing through him. ~

As soon as he had managed to calm himself down a little, he heard _another_ flutter of wings as another angel appeared in the motel room.

“Cassie, wait!” He yelled, hand reaching forward to grasp nothing but air. “Oh, bloody hell.” The angel sighed exasperatedly, grumbling lowly to himself.

Eventually, the angel turned, facing Dean with a slightly surprised face while Dean merely gaped at him with wide eyes. 

“Hello, Dean.” He grinned, spreading out his arms in a greeting.

It was Sammy – who had woken up somewhere during the whole thing – who spoke first, looking as shocked as Dean. 

_“Balthazar?”_

“No, Moses.” He rolls his eyes, shaking his head before sighing softly. “ _Of course_ I’m Balthazar, it’s quite obvious if you ask me.” 

“You were, like… _dead._ ” Sam mumbles, pinching himself as if hoping to wake up from a really fucked up dream.

“Oh, was I? Mhmm…” Balthazar frowns, staring at the ceiling for a moment. “Yep, it seems like I was killed in this plane. Pity. ” He sighs and stares at their frozen-in-shock faces. “Oh, so what? _You_ …” and he points at Sam “…accepted Lucifer and made _the_ Apocalypse a bloody ghoul-zombie-demon filled rave and _you_ …” and then he points at Dean “…doesn’t even _exist_ from where I came from. It’s about bloody time ye both accepted the truth of different planes of existence-slash-reality.” 

Sam’s eyes widened so much and he gasped, running a hand through his hair, and Dean figured it was better to move on the subject so his brother could focus on other things that did not involve Lucifer or the Apocalypse.

“Hey, hey, relax. We’re just surprised. It’s not every day that a supposedly dead angel appears in our room.” Dean held his hands up, as if trying to physically avoid anymore sarcastic words from the angel. 

Balthazar snorted, grinning at them wickedly. “Isn’t it? I thought you would be used to it by now since Cassie has been hanging out with you.” 

Dean frowns and shakes his head, not really wanting to understand what those words meant. Sammy, on the other hand, already had his ‘Tell me more, master’ face on. 

“What do you mean? It was just Castiel…” Sammy frowned, not sure how to even finish that phrase.

“Ah, ah, ah.” Balthazar sing songed, shaking his head from side to side, still grinning. “Cassie is not the Castiel you both know.” At seeing the brother’s still frowned faces, he sighs, rolling his eyes once again. “Oh c’mon, you bloody morons must’ve noticed. You already _know_ a Castiel, and it was _not_ Cassie. Now, how could you two know two _different_ Castiels?” He arched both eyebrows in a sarcastic, skeptical expression.

“Wait a second, are you saying that Cas is not…” Dean’s words died in his throat as realization hit him. He was now shocked for another reason – and in desperate need of alcohol.

“ _Yes_. Oh Heavens, _yes_. And here was I thinking I would have to draw so you two would bloody understand it.” Balthazar sighs and suddenly seems a little weary. “Cassie and I are from the same plane, I came here chasing her, but I was too late and she left already.” 

“Well, is there a reason why you two are invading our plane or is this just for kicks?” Dean all but growls. He feels anger boiling inside him. Anger and resentment. But he’s not ready to deal with any of them yet, so he just ignores those feelings.

Balthazar grabs a chair, sitting, still staring both Winchesters, and looking even wearier. He considers flying away, but he knows they would eventually just summon him back and hold him until he answered every one of their damn questions.

“In our plane…you never existed, Dean. Without you, Sam said yes to Lucy and Adam said yes to Michael. Cassie never went to Hell to rescue you, or rebelled against Heaven. Cassie actually is one of the strongest angels left in Gabriel’s garrison by being the sole wielder of the Holy Sword Ala Alba.” 

“Ala Alba? Is that like fucking Excalibur or something?” Dean repeated it skeptically, glaring at Balthazar as if trying to rip out the truth from him with his eyes only. 

Balthazar nodded. “Yes. Ala Alba is one of the Holy Swords of Heaven. Very, very powerful artifacts. The Excalibur you talk about is one of them as well – although we have a more “angelical” name for it. But almost all of these swords had been lost, either in time or space, gone beyond our reach. So when Cassie appeared with none other than the Sword of Purity, everyone was a little scared and a little skeptical.”

“It sounds pretty powerful…I’m kinda impressed no one tried to steal it.” Sam sat on the edge of the bed, his brow furrowed as he listens intently to Balthazar.

“You _can’t steal_ one of the Holy Swords of Heaven.” The angel snorted, barking laughter. “Especially not Ala Alba. The Sword of Purity accepts only _one_ wielder at a time and it’s pretty damn _picky_ about it, it wouldn’t accept anyone. Cassie pretty much won the bloody lottery.” He pauses, arching one eyebrow as if waiting for more questions before continuing the story. “Raffy and Michael teamed up, as it was expected to, while Lucy got his armies ready. What no one was expecting was for Gabriel to come back. He was decided to not let his stupid brothers ruin his favorite amusement park.” He grinned. “So he started recruiting every angel that would stand with him, making his own garrison, and all that behind his big brother’s back. It was pretty amusing, I must say.”

“But he must’ve known he wouldn’t be able to best Michael and Lucifer...” 

“You forget its _Gabriel_ we’re talking about, Sam. The _trickster_ had quite a few cards under his sleeve. We waited until Lucy and Michael were distracted, engrossed in their ‘destined tragic fighting’. As we attacked, many of the doubting angels broke rank, joining our side. Had the fighting gone the way it was going, we might’ve been victorious…” Balthazar licked his suddenly dry lips, looking beaten as if even retelling what happened wore him out.

“But?” Dean urged and Balthazar stared at him, sighing and rubbing his eyes tiredly before continuing.

“But Uriel betrayed us.” He sighed loudly. “Gabriel had prepared a number of places, positions we should take as part of the strategy of the battle and Uriel, instead of leading us to the aforementioned place…” He grinned bitterly, his whole face taking a somber tone. “…he led us into an ambush. We were _massacred_. Nearly a third of our garrison was slaughtered before we could reposition ourselves. At that point, we had to fall back or we would all die, but there was no opening. If we retreated, they would follow us and murder each one of us.” Balthazar gesticulated, his brow furrowed and his eyes lost in the memories as he told and _lived_ through all of them again. “It was then that Cassie offered to hold them back, buy us time to escape.”

“ _What_? That’s…that’s suicide. There was no way Cas would be able to hold them all.” Dean bit his lip, his voice coming out harsh, almost like a growl as he imagined Cas alone in an ocean of never-ending enemies. 

“She didn’t wait for Gabriel’s approval. She told us to hurry and flew back, and some of us stayed, torn between fighting and dying with her or fleeing with the others. Gabriel hurried us to flee as we lost sight of Cassie amidst the demons and for a second we all thought that was it, but then…” He smiled a genuine, rare, smile. “Then Ala Alba glowed with the intensity of a thousand Suns, smiting all the demons around her and we fled. We gathered and prayed for her to be alright, prayed for all the brothers and sisters we lost. In the end, less than a third of the garrison had survived and we had no words whatsoever from Cassie. Gabriel asked for my help to find her and here I am.” 

The Winchesters looked absolutely blown away by the story, leaning against the headboard of the bed, their expressions varying from shock to sadness. An awkward, heavy silence filled the room and Balthazar cleared his throat. 

“Gabriel told me that during the fight Cassie might’ve ended up, somehow, in one of the Nexus, one of the Pillars sustaining Reality itself, they’re related to things like Time and Space. And _somehow_ , Cassie must’ve crossed the Veil of our plane to your plane, ending up here.”

Dean just shook his head, rubbing his temples with his fingers, pretty sure he would get a goddamned headache later from all this info. He glanced at Sammy when his brother didn’t _tackle_ Balthazar with lots of questions, but he looked so mind blown and tired that he was sure the questions could wait until the morning.

Dean was pretty sure he said something along the lines of ‘You can crash on the couch if you want’ to Balthazar before he pretty much passed out, his head swirling with so much information he couldn’t process them all at once. 

But that didn’t matter, not now, he would rest first, question later.

Balthazar really didn’t have any other place to go, so he just sat at the couch, rubbing his hands on his face tiredly, sighing softly. Resting suddenly didn’t seem like such a bad idea.

\---

When he came to senses, Gabriel was sitting beside him, a box of cookies on his lap as he munched slowly, flipping the channels of the TV with just a thought.

“Good morning, Balthy.” He grinned, looking so cheerful that Balthazar almost groaned.

He frowned as he looked at the room and saw that the Winchester’s were gone.

“They’re grabbing breakfast, should be back soon.” Gabriel answered before he could even ask.

“Well, you look quite bloody cheery this morning, what did you do?” He arched one eyebrow, not even bothering to try to hide the sarcastic tone of his voice.

“Eh, I felt you stopping so I came to check on you, figured maybe you found Cassie…?” The archangel kept changing channels, a scowl on his face and mumbling something about how terrible the series were in this plane. 

“Almost.” Balthazar sighed. Gabriel looked so calm he couldn’t help but be suspicious; he unconsciously narrowed his eyes, analyzing the archangel. “I thought you would keep trying to find her. You said back then you weren’t ready to give up on the war yet.” 

There was the soft click of the door opening and two loud annoyed voices. Sam frowned looking at the two angels sitting on the couch, the very image seeming so _weird_. Dean, on the other hand, just rolled his eyes, grumbling something about dead angels and no politeness whatsoever. 

When Gabriel didn’t turn to give them both one of his cheery, annoying, greetings, Balthazar swallowed hard. 

“It doesn’t matter anymore. It’s over.” 

Balthazar snorted. “It’s not _over_ , Gabe, sheesh, we still got some artifacts, we might need to recruit more angels, or even people, but you know…” But his voice died in his throat when Gabe just looked down at his cookies, frowning, the TV staying on the same channel for more than five seconds. 

“It’s _over_ , Balthy.” Gabriel repeated with a little more emphasis. “The gate to the Nexus, the one we used to cross the Veil, is gone.” 

Balthazar’s eyes widened. “You mean…?”

“Yep.” Gabriel turned to give him a tight, forced amused smile. He also offered cookies for him.

“ _Oh_.” Balthazar’s face grew grim and he licked his lips nervously before sighing, rolling his eyes and grabbing a cookie. 

“Would you two care to share the info with the rest of the crew?” Both angels turned to face Dean, as if they had forgotten the two brothers were there, listening to them silently. 

“There’s _always_ a gate connecting a plane to the Nexus, it’s a necessary thing since the Nexus holds existence-slash-reality together.” Balthazar answered, chewing on his cookie, watching Gabriel go back to channel zapping.

Dean just frowned, gesturing for him to finish whatever reasoning he started. But then Sam’s eyebrow’s shot up and he said “So if there is no gate, there is no existence-slash-reality-whatever.” 

“Bingo! We got a winner, Balthy.” Gabriel grinned. “Come here and grab your cookie before we eat them all.” He laughed.

“We can’t go back to the plane we came from…” Balthazar sighed, staring at the two brothers. “…because there is _no_ plane to go back to. We took too long. Michael and Lucy probably destroyed the whole thing.” 

“So...you’re saying that you’re both staying here? In this plane, that is.” 

“Not just us, Dean-o.” Gabriel grinned at him. “There were others who managed to escape, not many.” He turned to Balthazar, brows furrowing. “Was it what? Five?” Balthazar thought for a while before nodding, so Gabriel turned back to Dean. “Yeah, there’s another five from our plane here, besides me, Balthy and Cassie.” 

“Ah.” Dean looked at Sam to find him grinning slightly. Of course Sam would think having angels on their sides would be a good thing; Dean wasn’t so sure of that though. 

“Don’t worry, Dean, we’ll find Cassie.” Balthazar smirked at him and Dean glared back – he thought he had been doing a good job pretending he had forgotten the angel. 

“Yeah, we will…when she wants us to find her that is.” Gabriel had his brow furrowed, watching intently a documentary about birds on Discovery Channel for who knows what reason.

Dean arched one eyebrow, still half glaring at Balthazar. “One of the sigils on Ala Alba is one that keeps anyone from tracking her, you can feel her presence but it’s hard to know where she is.”

“We could always summon her.” Sam shrugged, looking from Dean to Balthazar and back.

“Except you would end up summoning the Castiel from this plane. You would need a different summoning spell, actually, I’m not even sure if there _is_ a bloody summoning spell we could use on her.” Balthazar frowned, suddenly interested in the documentary as well.

“Not any I know of.” Gabriel shrugged, sighing. “Ala Alba can protect her from all that; in the best case scenario she’ll know we’re calling her and will appear, but who knows? She might PMS on us.” Both angels cringed at the same time, taking deep breaths and deciding to think happy things.

Gabriel looked at Dean and rolled his eyes as the hunter clenched his fists and looked ready to bolt through the door and track Cassie down. “Just chill, Dean, she’ll come back eventually. Let her do whatever she has to do.” 

Dean sighed and Sam frowned at him. Gabriel actually had a very good point so really, what could they do except wait?

“Cookie?” Gabriel offered them the box and Dean was the first one to grab a cookie, looking away and trying to look pissed off – he was much more worried than angry, after all, Crowley was still after Cas and he doubted the King of Hell would care which version of Cas he got his hands on. 

Dean sighed exasperatedly. It would be a _long_ wait.


	6. Castiel

Thanks to his recently reacquainted angel senses – which he found out to be sort of overwhelming sometimes, despite feeling completely natural – he could feel the presence of a being getting closer and closer to him. He furrowed his brow, sensing a strange and _odd_ familiarity from the being; it confused him.

Suddenly the image of Lucifer next to him – the one that has been bothering him for days without end, singing and arguing with the furniture since Cas was straight out ignoring him – wavered and vanished as a strong light, one he could only see thanks to his angel senses, got closer and closer, illuminating existence in a way he knew too well. The mysterious being was definitely an angel. 

He heard the flutter of wings – and, once again, thanks to his angel senses, he saw the origin of the sound, pairs of gigantic wings of light flapping graciously. Suddenly it was like something stirred inside him and he raised his eyes to meet the stranger. 

Cas was sure that in human terms the woman would be considered beautiful, but that’s not what stunned him. Despite the obvious gender difference, the woman looked a _lot_ like Jimmy, having the same piercing blue eyes, messy black hair – although hers were longer –, even the tan trench coat – hers were feminine like, having a fancy feeling to it. He somehow knew – and mentally he told himself _“of course you know, you’re an angel, there are many, many things you know”_ – that the woman was Jimmy Novak, his vessel, even if in another ‘shape’. 

Then he noticed the being behind that woman. It was an angel, one of the _malakhim_ , the three sets of Grace and Light made wings spread out behind it. The angel shone brightly with strength, her Grace was strong and healthy, illuminating the various layers of existence. Somewhat merged with her Grace was one of the Holy Swords of Heaven, and further observation confirmed it was Ala Alba. It felt so pleasantly familiar that it took him a while to understand what was going on.

Cassie felt her wings dropping to the sides, a clear reflection from the sadness that hit her. She observed the man before her, Cas, the Castiel of this plane, her counterpart. His Grace was weak, half torn, half cracked (lines of emptiness running through his Grace), it shined softly, but dimmed. His wings dropped to his sides, almost on the floor. It saddened her incredibly to stare at it.

“You’re me.” Cas stated, still looking surprised.

“Yes. From another plane.” Cassie answered. She had the sudden urge to try and comfort the angel, but she knew she wouldn’t like that, so he probably wouldn’t either. “During a battle, Ala Alba teleported me to the Nexus in an attempt to save me.”

“Staying in the Nexus would kill you, slowly drain your Grace.” He deadpanned, frowning.

“Yes, but in my plane the Apocalypse had begun already, teleporting me to any other place wouldn’t save me, only delay the time of my death.” Cas nodded at her answer and she continued. “I was weak and right when I thought my time had come, I heard a voice, a prayer, and I followed it, ending up here.” She paused, as if wondering how much should she tell. “It was Dean Winchester. He prayed for you and it seems like I heard his prayer instead.”

“So you must’ve met him already.” Cas stated and paused, biting his lip in thought. “Is the Dean Winchester of your plane different from the one from here?” 

“There isn’t a Dean Winchester in my plane. He died when a kid during a hunt with his father. Adam was chosen as the vessel of Michael instead.”

“And that’s why the Apocalypse happened I presume.” 

Cassie frowned at his words, arching one eyebrow slightly. He seemed so sure of it.

“Perhaps.” She said in a lower voice.

“Somehow I get the feeling you didn’t came to me to just ‘chat’.” 

Cassie nodded. “I’m having trouble dealing with some _things_ related to Dean. I was hoping you could give me a more plausible explanation.” She paused, staring intently at him. “You could start by telling me why and how he has a piece of your, _our_ , Grace embedded into his soul.”

Cas froze for a second, furrowing his brow. “How did you…?”

“I touched the mark, the handprint on his shoulder. My Grace reacted to the piece, probably since it recognized as being part of itself. With it, came a lot of memories, _feelings_ which I do not understand.” Cassie frowned, looking down at her hands, sort of ashamed for being such a powerful angel and yet, having trouble understanding something as fundamentally simple as feelings. 

“I see.” Cas sighed softly, mimicking her and looking down at his own hands. “It all started when I rescued him from the Pit. I was stunned at how bright his soul was, even in such a dark place. Although I gripped him tight and raised him from Perdition, there were wounds, scars that I couldn’t heal.” He stared into Cassie’s very familiar blue eyes. “So I used my own Grace as a thread to knit him back together." He paused for a moment, looking down before adding. "It was a very small sacrifice all things considered.” 

“And a very painful one, after all, you ripped off a part of yourself.” Cas shrugged at her, as if saying it was no big deal. Then she continued. “But maybe the hardest part was the bond that would surely form after such an act.” 

Cas looked down, biting his lip softly, and Cassie knew he felt somewhat ashamed that she knew that, that she knew him way too well – for obvious reasons.

“I didn’t think such a small part would be enough to form a bond and…”

 _“And_ …” She interrupted, arching one eyebrow at him. “You just didn’t care. You wanted him to be well and safe so you did whatever you had to do to make sure of it.”

Cas sighed before nodding slowly, his head still low. “His soul…it was so bright and warm, I’ve never seen a soul like that, with so much strength, pain and affection.” 

“Neither have I, Cas.” He frowned at her and she grinned, deciding she liked the nickname. “I thought you loved him because of the bond, but now I see you fell in love with him at first sight.” 

Cas kept his head low and the light of his true form dimmed, seeming to grow smaller, balling into itself. Cassie frowned deeper, her wings spreading out around them, softly touching Cas’s three sets of wings – which were all almost spread out on the floor – in a comforting manner. He gave her a small smile at the gesture, relishing at the familiar, warm feeling of her, _his_ , own Grace. 

“That’s not something to be ashamed of, Cas.” She paused, still staring at him. “Most angels are not capable of loving anyone but God. And if you remember well, He told us to love them, to care and watch out for them.”

“Are you?” She arched one eyebrow at him inquisitively. “Are you capable of loving anyone other than God?” 

Cassie sighed deeply, running a hand through her hair. “I’m starting to think I am.” She replied in a soft, low voice, and he nodded at her, seeming more relaxed. “I’m still not prepared to just accept and forgive everything he’s done to you, _us_ , though.” Cassie quickly added, her wings fluffing. 

“You will learn, I’m sure.” Cas stated, staring at her with a calm, serene face. But she knew him way too well – after all, they were one and the same – and she could clearly see the hurt hidden in his eyes. Accepting and forgiving didn’t mean that it stopped hurting. 

But he endured. He endured for and because of Dean, pretended it didn’t hurt so the hunter wouldn’t blame himself even more and go all self destructive. It amazed Cassie how much love, devotion and loyalty stood between the two of them despite all the hardships they went through – or, perhaps, because of them. 

Thanks to the bond she now felt, she could at least understand Cas’s motivations, the reasons why he sacrificed so much and forgave so much. It was all still a little bit cloudy for her, but she begun to understand. 

Cassie sat next to him, on the bed. Cas arched one eyebrow at her, frowning a little, confused.

“I have the feeling you would like to talk to someone after being alone for so long. Someone that won’t judge or label you.” She paused, relishing at how his face relaxed, seeming almost surprised. “Can’t think of anyone better for that than me… _yourself_.” Cassie covered his hands with hers in a comforting manner, staring at him with intense blue eyes, just like his. 

Cas nodded softly, biting his lip. Then he shook his head slowly. “I…I never…” He paused, sighing. “There wasn’t…ever…”

“I know.” She spoke in a low, calm voice. “It’s weird to have someone at your side after fighting for so long alone. Even though Dean was the closest to that, he’s a mortal, a human, he wouldn’t understand many things.”

Cas stared at her, gaping. He nodded slowly, frowning slightly, surprised that she could see through him so well – despite being essentially the same being, their lives were completely different in certain points, aspects. Cas took a deep breath, telling her everything from the beginning. How he volunteered to rescue Dean when no one else did, how he had a feeling that was his Mission and didn’t think twice before diving to cross the Veils that separated the Silver City from Earth and Earth from Hell. How he fought fire and brimstone and hordes of demons to find and rescue him. How he knit him back together with his own Grace and told her about that night at that barn. And the contrast between his feelings and his duty, both seeming to clash against each other all the time. How despite everything, Cas always put Dean above all, even his duty, whenever he could. 

Then he told Cassie how _scared_ he was – he would never admit that to anyone, not even say it out loud –, how those feelings for Dean messed with his mind and how soon he found himself wanting the best of the two worlds: being an Angel of the Lord and staying with Dean. And how he learnt, in the _hardest_ way, that he couldn’t ignore and bury those feelings, that everything that happened after that trip to Hell had changed him in such a profound way that it couldn’t be _unmade_ neither forgotten. 

Cassie frowned, huddling closer to him as he told her of his Rebellion and he didn’t need to explain why he did it, because she could see it now, as obvious as Sun light. He rebelled because he thought it could be a way out, he could help Dean more by being at his side more often, he could find another way to end that situation without Dean’s death or the end of the world. She remembered his earlier words _“It was a small sacrifice all things considered.”_ It seemed like it was his motto when regarding Dean. Cassie almost chuckled sadly thinking that all the lack of love he gave himself he seemed to compensate by giving it to Dean – which tragically left him with nothing, as he gave himself each time more and more to the hunter, without getting anything in return. 

_“Even giving him his Grace, giving up on Heaven and pretty much his sanity as well.”_ Cassie sighed, feeling angry for Cas, angry at _Dean_. The hunter would have a _lot_ to explain. 

At the mention of Purgatory, Cassie partially forgot the anger, staring at Cas with wide eyes.

Cas kept this head low, ashamed, his three sets of wings resting on the floor now. His voice was low and broken as he spoke of how he made a deal with Crowley, of how he foolishly thought that absorbing the souls of Purgatory would somehow end the war for good, that he could be a better God than his Father ever was. It was blasphemous and painful in so many ways that Cas barely noticed the tears running down his face. 

Cassie hugged him, her wings curling around them, and Cas froze, shocked. 

“Even after all that you still offer me comfort?” He said in broken sob. 

“Cas…” She sighed deeply. “Your intentions were always pure. There might’ve been times when your naivety got the best of you, but still, you only did what you thought was best all along.” 

Cas relaxed, hugging her back with a relieved sigh. Cassie had a lot of questions, but she knew better than to press even more the poor angel before her – she would give him the comfort he needs and get her answers from Crowley and Dean. 

“How about you explain me why Lucifer was here before I arrived?” She subtly changed the subject.

“It was the only way to fix Sam. I traded places with him.” 

Cassie nodded at his answer – it was well known that Sam Winchester was Lucifer’s vessel. It was very possible that some part of Lucifer came out when Sam got out of the Cage. 

“I have yet to identify the reason Sam could still see Lucifer, and why I can too.” 

“Have you tried talking to him?” 

Cas looked positively scared at that. He shook his head vehemently. 

“He’s known for his ability with words. He would twist all my beliefs if I talk to him. I remained silent as to avoid his persuasion.” 

Cassie nodded at him slowly. “Yes, but now you’re not alone anymore, Cas.” She stared at him intently. “If you talk with him, maybe he’ll let slip information that could change the game. You, I, and all Heaven know how arrogant he is. If he thinks he won, he’ll be reckless. We can take advantage of his carelessness.”

Cas gulped, unconsciously holding Cassie’s hands tighter. 

“Cas…” He stared back at her. “I _will_ find a way to help you.” _“With or without Dean or any help.”_ She almost added.

Cas kept staring at her, at the luminous being she was. Her Grace burned with the intensity and brightness of thousand Suns. She was the sole wielder of Ala Alba, the Sword of Purity, one of the mighty Holy Swords of Heaven. Millenniums ago, it was one of the Holy Swords that vanquished Lucifer, the Sword of Righteousness, Magna Gratia, Michael’s sword. Although there were obvious and great differences between Michael’s and Cassie’s power, that thought tranquilized him a bit. They could have a chance at solving this after all. 

Cas nodded at her with renewed strength. Cassie smiled softly, retrieving a rosary from her trench coats pocket and putting it in his hands. The rosary felt old even though it gleamed with precious gems, gold and silver. He almost laughed out loud at realizing the rosary was one of the many artifacts that Heaven guarded. It was the rosary held by Pope Leo XIII in the past. 

“Whenever it gets too much…too hard, hold on to that rosary. It won’t make Lucifer go away, but it shall remember you of what’s important. If you need, pray for me and I’ll come.” Cassie closed his fingers around the rosary, giving him a small smile. “You’ll be fine. I have faith on you.”

“As I have on you.” Cas smiled back softly, his wings fluttering a bit, standing behind him and not on the floor anymore. 

She gave his hands a squeeze before getting up, her wings flaring behind her, ready to take flight. With silent goodbyes, Cassie’s wings fluttered and she was gone. 

Cas sighed deeply, looking and holding the rosary tightly in his hands when he felt the presence of Lucifer returning.


	7. Crowley

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, this is the last one I've written so far.  
> Depending of the feedback/motivation, I'll write the rest.
> 
> Thank you for reading!

Crowley growled under his breath, scotch glass on his hand – it seemed like people _always_ had to summon him when he was relaxing, drinking his scotch – and turned, with a nasty remark ready on the tip of his tongue, to face _whoever the fuck_ summoned him. 

The remark died in his throat as he turned, finding himself in a closed, very classy, old fashioned café. The lights were off as the curtains were draw, letting the evening Sun cast shadows, the light catching on the bottles and glasses around the café, casting small rainbows and glistening in the partial darkness. 

On a table nearby, an elegant oak one, there was a woman, her legs crossed as she graciously drank a cup of tea. She looked up at him, smiling softly, gesturing for him to take the other seat in front of her. 

Crowley narrowed his eyes, looking at her suspiciously. She had long messy black hair, piercingly vivid blue eyes, wearing a fancy feminine tan trench coat and a hazel-green scarf with black knee high boots. She also looked painfully _familiar_. 

She pinned him with those blue eyes, arching one eyebrow, as if asking him if he was going to sit or not.

Crowley sighed, shrugging and taking his seat. At the sight of a cup before him and a kettle, he hummed pleasantly. With a thought, the glass of scotch was gone and he poured himself some hot water, loving the smell of tea rising in the air. He took a sip, humming and smiling.

“My favorite, how kind of you.” He spoke in a sarcastic tone. 

The woman laughed softly, drinking her tea. A pleasant silence followed, the setting Sun light illuminating partially the café as they both enjoyed the tea. 

Suddenly Crowley snapped his fingers, pouring himself more hot water and adding a new tea bag. He glared at the woman.

“You’re goddamned Castiel.” He spoke in an accusing tone.

“Indeed, I am.” She nodded before adding. “But not from this plane…as you may have noticed.”

“Indeed, I have.” He paused, his eyes scrutinizing her. “I’m assuming our showdown will happen after the tea.” Crowley glared, uneasy with the sudden situation he found himself in.

“I was hoping we could avoid the ‘showdown’ and just talk like the civilized beings we both are.” Cassie replied in a soft and sweet voice, maintaining the gracious and elegant posture she had.

“Is this some kind of _fucking joke_?” He growled low, harshly, over his cup of tea, yet, being sure to not break his own posture. 

“Crowley.” She spoke in an even tone, catching Crowley of guard and making him even more suspicious. “Although it wasn’t precisely and exactly me you made a deal with, I still consider myself responsible for my counterpart in this plane – seeing as we’re essentially the same being.” Cassie paused as Crowley narrowed his eyes even more, sipping his tea carefully. “The last time, things were done on this plane’s Castiel terms, if I can even say that…” She shook her head, sighing.

“Oh and now this time I get to play by _your_ terms? Too bad, sweetheart, I’m done gambling with angels, they’re horrible sore losers.” Crowley spat, glaring at her with a smirk as if he had just won the game. Cassie merely stared back, setting the cup on her lap, her head tilting softly to the side. 

She looked so calm and composed that Crowley gulped.

“Not by my terms…I had hoped by now you would have figured it out.” She gestured to the place around them, the café.

Crowley frowned, somewhat insulted by her words, but curious. The demon then turned, letting his eyes analyze his surroundings with more care and attention than he had before. The café looked pretty old, easily over three hundred years, even though it was well conserved. 

“We’re in Scotland.” He stated with some shock. Suddenly he turned, wide eyed, to stare at Cassie.

“This café was owned by a descendant of yours. I’m not sure of all, considering things vary from this plane to the one I came from, but I’m pretty sure this café once belonged to Brianna, if you know anything about her.” Cassie sipped more of her tea.

Crowley’s face suddenly twisted into a snarl and as he opened his mouth to bark threats and curses, Cassie continued. “I offer for us to play in _your_ terms, Crowley. I believe you’ve earned at least that considering that whole Purgatory thing.” 

“Well, what else do you _offer_?” He bit his tongue, fuming with anger. 

“Peace between us.” Cassie said softly and Crowley threw his head back, laughing insultingly loud and even ironic.

“ _Peace_?! Are you _bloody fucking kidding me_?!” The demon put down his cup, getting up and turning up to leave, shaking his head and fixing his suit.

Cassie also got up and with a mere thought Ala Alba was on her hands. 

A bright light came from behind him and Crowley froze. Suddenly, a circle of light adorned with small sigils and symbols formed around him – an ancient binding spell in Enochian. The King of Hell turned, snarling and glaring, but soon the anger was forgotten, replaced with utmost cautiousness. 

A pair of raven black wings, half curled, half spread out, was coming out from the angel’s back – and Crowley could see the sharp edge of each feather glisten with the last rays of sunlight. Perpendicular to the floor was one of the Holy Swords of Heaven, the woman’s hands entwined around the handle. The longsword glowed softly and instantly Crowley knew that the binding spell had been done by the sword itself. 

“I do not wish to fight with you, Crowley.” Cassie stated. 

Crowley gulped, sighing almost imperceptibly with relief. He wasn’t sure if he could defeat an angel empowered with the Sword of Purity, being King of Hell apparently wasn’t enough to guarantee victory against a blade made for the unique purpose of “slaying the impure ones”. 

“So what? You gonna keep me shackled until I beg for you?” He spat and the angel sighed, her feathers losing the sharp edge, settling behind her back.

“I was hoping it wouldn’t come to that.” She answered, sighing, and Crowley could see she was getting tired of this situation. “I ask that you accept mine, _our_ , apology. I can’t tell what’s Cas status with the Host at the moment, so he might need friends.” 

“How sweet.” Crowley smirked. “Although I have no bloody idea where you got that idea that me and Cas are friends. We’re not exactly playing together during lunch break, now are we?”

Cassie smiled, letting one hand go of the sword’s handle to fish something in her trench coats pocket. Crowley froze as the angel held a golden locket in her hands. There was a large and stylish ‘B’ in front of it. 

“How…” He whispered and suddenly the King of Hell looked more human than ever, losing all that snark and pettiness; his eyes wide with shock and memories.

“Back in my plane…you were never King of Hell, Crowley.” She paused, forcing Ala Alba to remove the binding spell. “Sam accepted Lucifer and he hunted down all demons that stood against him.” Cassie stared at him harder. “Including _you_. But you kept yourself hidden well enough that he couldn’t find you. At that time, you were working with Gabriel, helping him start his own garrison and Lucifer knew that.” Crowley’s eyes kept going from her to the locket, then to her again, then the locket, over and over again, as if not believing it was real. “So Lucifer went to the past and grabbed Brianna…your daughter, in my plane.” Her voice was soft and smooth as she watched the demon’s reactions. “When we found out, it was almost too late. You begged everyone in the garrison to save her, but only I decided to go. In the end, you died to save Brianna and she gave me her locket, saying it was a birthday gift from you, before I sent her back to her proper time.” 

Crowley took a deep breath, gulping a few times, but as Cassie went on the story, and he looked shocked, startled. “ _Wait_. Are you…are you saying that…” He paused to take another deep breath. “…that…I knew my little girl?” 

Cassie frowned. “I don’t understand.”

The demon shook his head quickly. “In this plane…Brianna died still a baby.” His voice was bitter. 

Cassie gaped at him, sill frowning. “Actually, from what I can tell, that didn’t happen. Brianna lived with her mom until her forties, when she died of pneumonia.” 

Crowley glared at her. “That wasn’t what that skank of her mother said back then. Bitch did everything to keep me away from my own daughter.” 

“Oh.” Cassie tried to look apologetic, only now realizing the truth, but Crowley just rolled his eyes, growling. “But yes. Back in my plane her mom ran away leaving Brianna with you.” She paused, seeing Crowley staring at the locket with a disturbed face. “She cared a great deal for you...Brianna that is.” 

Cassie held the golden locket between them, giving it to him if he wanted as a sign of good faith, a token of peace. After a few moments of hesitation, Crowley got the locket, sighing at the memories that hit him. Memories of things he was sure he never did – like letting Brianna go out in a date, he would _never_ do that. He would, however, arrange a date between her pretender and his sword. The demon sighed louder, realizing that those memories came from another plane; they could still offer some comfort at least.

“I’m assuming now is the time I say I forgive you and we’re peachy again, right?” Crowley half glared, smirking, at Cassie. The angel shrugged, still looking as calm and serene as ever. “You know, I think I like your methods better. Got a lot more class than those two cave mans and their pet angel.” 

Cassie smiled at him, amused. “I’m glad. For the compliment and for tying this lose end.”

Crowley snorted, waving at her as if dismissing all those emotional things. He turned around and heard the flutter of wings; knowing she was gone already, he sat on the table once again, deciding to drink another cup of tea before leaving. The golden locket in his hands as he drank and looked around him, at the café his daughter built and he smiled. A true, genuine, smile.


End file.
